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Chapter Text

Melié shivered as it was getting colder, bolts of lightning flashed in the dark of the night as she cried out for her brother Arthur. Not that long ago, she and her twin escaped from their family home, not being able to withstand the constant abuse of their alcoholic father. With little money the old man had, as he spend all of his earned cash on cheap wine or ale, the twins had to survive on the streets.

After wasting all the money on food, the two teenagers turned to stealing and pickpocketing. At first, it went good as they roamed across the market places, snatching purses from merchants and traders. However, due to their frequent thefts, both Arthur and Melié brought the attention of the local city watch and had to flee, leaving their hideout within the slums. To make matters worse, the guards were pursuing them, and although they lost the pursuers, the two lost each other.

It was the middle of the night, and very dark. Melié once again, desperately called out for her brother, but to no success. Tired and overwhelmed, Melié decided to find a safe place to rest for the night. Melié was teenage girl who cut a slender figure with bright red hair kept in a ponytail, pale skin and blue eyes. Her red hair may be the only thing illuminating in the dark, as she war dark green/blue clothing with shawls and cowls she used to hide her face while committing thievery. She also wore a thin leather circlet around her brow, which she stole from a merchant selling cheap decorations, and a scar across the left side of her mouth and cheek, a gift from her abusive father.

Barely holding herself on her two legs, Melié looked up and saw a lone cabin in the woods. Using all of her strength, the girl went towards it, as she saw light and smoke coming out of the window and the chimney respectively. Approaching the door, Melié almost screamed in horror at what she just saw; a very living eye, attached to the door, was staring straight at her. Melié soon lost her sense of shock, she knew very well what it was. It was a cyclops’ eye. Legends told that if you took the only eye of a cyclops, and do it correctly, the eye could be used as a security watch, being mentally linked to its master. It’s useful especially when some stranger knocked at your door.

Speaking of knocking, Melié didn’t have to knock, as the host, who saw her with the cyclops’ eye, immediately opened the door. It was an old man, a forester, his face filled with his greying beard and thick moustache. He curiously looked at the worn out girl.

“Please let me in, dear sir,” Melié pleaded, trying to be as polite as possible. “Allow me to stay for the night. Do not fear, I shall be no trouble for you.”

The old forester just smiled at her. “Make yourself at home wayfarer,” he almost whispered to her. “I won’t refuse you anything. Many stories I can tell you if you like.”

As if hypnotised by his words, Melié, who was always vigilant, decided to let go of her guard. Entering the cabin, she immediately felt the warm air and the wonderous aroma of food. Taking a seat as much closer as she could to the fire, Melié observed the surrounding area. It was a typical home of a forester; everything filled with animal skins. To the right were some animal traps, large for wolves and bears. Some horns of deer and moose hung on the wall. A barrel of gunpowder was placed far away from the fire and kitchen. Various berries and herbs were seen.

A cauldron was heated above the fire, filled with vegetable soup. Melié smelled the divine smell of the soup. Seeing this, the forester took out two bowls and filled them, giving one to the girl. Melié took a spoon and merged the first spoonful of soup into her mouth. She mentally moaned. It was the first time since she ate proper hot, cooked food.

As she ate, she was thinking about her brother. Melié reprimanded herself for staying here in a warm and comfy place, while Arthur was gods know where. She wanted to go out and find him, but she was so tired. As she was getting herself full, the forester, meanwhile, sat beside and kept on talking about this and that.

“I can assure you,” he told her. “You’re safe here. No forest creature here is an enemy of mine. In fact,” he leaned forward. “I have a hobby of feeding wolves.”

“Feeding wolves?” Melié asked, her mouth full, when suddenly she heard wolves howling in the night. Right beside the cabin, literally howling at the window. Melié immediately felt fear and concern for her brother even more.

“Are these wolves?” she asked, naively hoping that it wasn’t. The old man just nodded in response, smiling. Putting his bowl aside, he stood up, smiling and left, only to return wearing a hat, his fur coat and most importantly – a musket on his shoulder. Approaching the girl, he suddenly aimed the firearm straight at her face, saying only one thing.

“Friends want to eat, let’s go, fellow, to the forest.”

Immediately, Melié burst into laughter as if it was some kind of joke, but her smile faded while the old forester laughed at her misfortune, holding the girl at gunpoint. Melié knew that for the first time since being abused by her father, she was fucked, and there was nothing she could do.

“Please understand, darling,” the old forester told her as he tied the girl to a tree. “I have nothing personal against you.”

He turned when he heard the wolves howling again, grinning maliciously. Grabbing his musket, the old man left for his cabin, leaving Melié to be eaten by the wolves. Melié suddenly felt the urge to cry out of despair and inevitability, but tried to hold herself. You’re better than that, she told herself. In order to comfort herself, Melié imagined Arthur and their mother, when she was alive. She didn’t want to remember their father. He was a knave even before their mother passed away. She was ill, but once again, their father wasted all the money they had on heather ale.

Still, she decided to try to escape. She began moving back and forth, trying to free herself from the robes holding her to the trunk of the tree when she heard someone calling for her.

“Melié!”

Melié opened her eyes, and saw a slender teenage boy with bright red hair, pale skin and blue eyes, just like she was. It was Arthur, her twin brother. Just like his sister, Arthur wore dark blue clothing with shawls and cowls while also he wore a hood to hide his hair.

“Arthur!” Melié exclaimed. “That old man, he…”

“I know,” the boy answered. “I’ve followed you both. Don’t worry, I’ll get you out.”

“Do it quick, before the wolves will decide which of us would be the first or second course.” Melié told him. Arthur began untying her. He was almost done when he heard a gun clocking behind his back. Turning around, Arthur cursed as he saw the old forester aiming his musket at him.

“You know, wolves really hate when someone tries to steal their lunch,” the old man told him, smirking. “At least, the wolves will be getting a second course. Too bad there won’t be any dessert.”

“Why? There will be.” Melié told him as the old forester looked back, looking out for wolves.

“And who is it?” the huntsman asked, not looking at the teenagers.

“You.”

Before the forester could react, Arthur grabbed a nearby stone and hit the forester hard in the face while grabbing the musket’s barrel and moving it away from him and his twin. Absentmindedly, the forester pulled the trigger and the musket shot. Arthur hit him again while Melié freed himself and the two ran away. The two knew they had to leave while the forester was busy loading his musket once again.

“Come back, you vermin!” the forester yelled as he reached out for his bag of gunpowder. He was about to load another bullet into his rifle when he heard wolves snarling from behind. Turning around slowly, the old man saw a pack of wolves snarling and growling at him. They were vicious and hungry.

Thinking of reaching his cabin quickly, the old forester was about to dash but it was too late as the first wolf leapt at him, followed by the rest. As Arthur and Melié ran off into the woods, the antagonising cry of the old forester was heard across the forest, which it would be haunting for centuries, or even millennia.

Король и Шут - Лесник

Замученный дорогой, я выбился из сил,
И в доме лесника я ночлега попросил.
С улыбкой добродушной старик меня впустил,
И жестом дружелюбным на ужин пригласил.

Будь как дома путник, я ни в чем не откажу,
Я ни в чем не откажу, я ни в чем не откажу!
Множество историй, коль желаешь, расскажу,
Коль желаешь, расскажу, коль желаешь, расскажу!

На улице темнело, сидел я за столом.
Лесник сидел напротив, болтал о том, о сем.
Что нет среди животных у старика врагов,
Что нравится ему подкармливать волков.

Будь как дома путник, я ни в чем не откажу,
Я ни в чем не откажу, я ни в чем не откажу!
Множество историй, коль желаешь, расскажу,
Коль желаешь, расскажу, коль желаешь, расскажу!

И волки среди ночи завыли под окном.
Старик заулыбался и вдруг покинул дом.
Но вскоре возвратился с ружьем на перевес:
«Друзья хотят покушать, пойдем приятель в лес!»

Будь как дома путник, я ни в чем не откажу,
Я ни в чем не откажу, я ни в чем не откажу!
Множество историй, коль желаешь, расскажу,
Коль желаешь, расскажу, коль желаешь, расскажу!

Chapter Text

Lucas, a young boy not that tall with brown hair of medium length, stood beside the desk while his mentor, Laurentius, or how he called him, the Master, out of respect for his talent and skill, sat, writing down a manuscript.

Lucas wore a padded blue shirt with a leather shawl covering his shoulders woven with cord, while his leather belt around his waist was wrapped around the buckle several times, as his slim waist seemed to leave lots of slack, with a pouch on the back-left side to carry alchemy materials.

Orphaned at a very young age, Lucas was taken by Maegister Laurentius and was raised as the scholar’s apprentice. The two spent days, maybe even nights, studying various artifacts and manuscripts. Laurentius became like a father to him, teaching him the laws of nature. Right now, the Master was busy working on a manuscript involving ancient powers. The old desk was creaking as Laurentius wrote with his prized feather-pen. Lucas just watched in wonder and concentration at the way how the letters and symbols formed on the page, like living creatures.

The whole room was the Master’s laboratory. Bookshelves stood, filled with manuscripts, scrolls and tomes. Across were the alchemist’s equipment. Various mixtures and substances were stored.

Suddenly, a violent knock was heard at the door.

“Who could that be?” an annoyed Laurentius asked. Lucas approached to open the door. He began to pull the door open, when it was knocked, barely bashing into him when various armed bandits burst into the house. Lucas lied on the floor, watching in horror as the outlaws knocked his mentor down to the floor too. One of them, obviously the gang-leader, took the scholar’s seat and began observing the manuscript while the others began ransacking the house, searching for any valuables. In the end, the bandits gathered, and from the look on their faces, Lucas understood that they were not happy.

The leader turned to Laurentius. Holding the manuscript, the outlaw deduced that the old scholar feared for the page. Grinning, he addressed him.

“Oy, scholar,” he said. “I see this piece of paper is priceless to you. How ‘bout you tell us where the gold is, and I’ll give it back to you.”

Lucas mentally groaned. Of course. Due to their interest in alchemy, some of the locals immediately began believing that they would be able to transform water into gold. What ignorant fools. Of course these rumours reached the ears of the outlaws.

The problem was that both Master and apprentice didn’t have any gold. At all. Once he learned this, the outlaw only laughed malevolently. Both Lucas and Master cried in horror as he threw the manuscript into the fireplace.

Suddenly, fire flashed and a black smoke appeared out of the fireplace, rising above the alchemists and the outlaws. Everyone watched in horror, especially Lucas and Laurentius as they saw various creatures, such as mermaids and fauns, appear floating in air.

“Do not fear,” they spoke to the two alchemists. “We will protect you and your genius mind. Those who wish to harm you shall never leave this room!”

“Scholar, what’s going on!” the gang leader yelled, his voice full of panic.

“You have burnt my manuscript,” the Master explained, speaking as if he was reading a spell. “but that only makes it powerful in battle. The smoke from the pages will converse into poison. Manuscripts do not burn. My plot still lives in my imagination, but it has no room for madmen like you. The letters shall turn you into stone!”

Lucas gasped, just as the outlaws, in horror once he heard that. Standing up, he ran towards the bandits.

“Get out of here!” he cried to them, but it was too late. In a few seconds, the whole laboratory was filled with screams of agony and pain as the outlaws were transforming into stone, one by one. Soon, the creatures above disappeared along with the smoke. All that remained of their existence were the stoned bandits standing still like statuettes. However, before they left, Lucas shovelled some ashes, what remained from the manuscript, and threw it into the face of his Master’s executioners.

“Now they will inspire me during nights.” Lucas said to himself. Manuscripts do not burn indeed.

Спектакль Джо - Рукописи не горят

В цилиндре золотым пером трудился Мастер,
И стол его, поросший мхом, скрипел от счастья,
Ложились буквы на листок, как живые,
Но тут раздался в двери стук: "Кто такие?"

Ворвались злодеи - и Мастер шлёпнулся на пол,
"Не густо! Эх жалко!", - и тут один взглянул на стол.
"Эй, Мастер! Поведай, где деньги - отдадим листок.
Нет денег?", - и тут же, смеясь, злодей листок поджёг.

Спалили рукопись мою,
Но лишь сильней она в бою!
Дым от страниц сплотится в яд!
Рукописи не горят!
Живёт идеей мой сюжет,
В нём для безумцев места нет!
Вас буквы в камень превратят!
Рукописи не горят!

Явились виденья у мастера над головой,
Собрались рядами "Мы охраняем гений твой",
Русалки, сатиры - творения чёрного козла,
"Не выйдут из дома все, кто желают тебе зла".

Спалили рукопись мою,
Но лишь сильней она в бою!
Дым от страниц сплотится в яд!
Рукописи не горят!
Живёт идеей мой сюжет,
В нём для безумцев места нет!
Вас буквы в камень превратят!
Рукописи не горят!

Писатель поднялся, цилиндр на голову надел,
"Эй, братья, на выход!", но никто выйти не сумел,
Маэстро сгрёб пепел и бросил в лица палачам:
"Теперь вдохновением они мне будут по ночам".

Спалили рукопись мою,
Но лишь сильней она в бою!
Дым от страниц сплотится в яд!
Рукописи не горят!
Живёт идеей мой сюжет,
В нём для безумцев места нет!
Как статуэтки все стоят!
Рукописи не горят!